Emerald Emotions and Ruby Conflictions
by overcaffeinated-irony
Summary: In which both Mike and Michael have fallen for Pete, and Pete is merely a confused teenager. Oh, woe is him. Come check it out, will have spouts of sadness and humor and romance. The first chapter is kind of odd, considering at first I didn't necessarily know where I wanted to go, but it IS actually planned now. I know you want to read it.
1. A Talk in a Diner

"Emerald Emotions and Ruby Conflictions"

_Perhaps, the man pondered, if I shan't do anything with who I am, with the creature I have become, then it may be for the best if I merely end it. As he speculated the thought, he began to chuckle. Low in his throat, a smile barely showing above the flawless features that he did not know he possessed. Yes, indeed it is quite peculiar, for whatever could be amusing about ending one's own existence? Is that even our-as mere, pathetic organisms-right to call? It is a great sin to kill, says almost any biblical book one might read, but is it not an even greater sin to commit an act of suicide? So, the man continued to chuckle, until-_

"Whatcha writin'?"

Despite myself and all dignity I tried to maintain within my high school years, I screamed and instinctively flung my arms over the paper, like some sort of cliché girl attempting to hide the contents of her diary. I shot hatred-filled daggers at the perpetrator with curious eyes to the random story I was trying to conduct.

"Mike Makowski," I snarled, taking my arms away from the notebook and making it apparent that I slam the black cover down on the wrinkled, torn and coffee stained pages within, "what do you want? A trunk ride back to Scottsdale? Because if that happens to be the case-and I do so hope that it is-then I assure you that that can most certainly be arranged."

He glanced down at me, making a face as if my threat went in one ear and right back out through the other. I didn't doubt that it most likely did. "Well, I came here 'cause, you know, it's kinda my hangout spot too, and I saw you and was all, _Hey, I know him, I'll say hey_\- so I came over and saw you writing-"

"And will leave me to it." His hangout spot, too? I wanted to outwardly gag up my left lung and shove it down his facial orifice of a mouth until he, in turn, gags in an exceedingly uncouth and coarse fashion for a late night diner. What a scene that would make. Though, looking around, it wouldn't be as if there would be many witnesses. And the waiters/waitresses seem so completely apathetic about _everything_ (even going out of their way to _not _care) that they would most likely shrug a shoulder in a stoic manner of not giving a fuck.

I looked back down at the black, spiraled notebook and slid the pencil over the cover, keeping it in place so it wouldn't roll off the table or some annoying shitty act that pencils do to piss off writers. Am I calling myself a writer now? Damn. Hello world, meet Pete Grey; the new Poe! Has a nice ring to it.

"I just wondered what you were writing about." He retorted, putting his arms behind his back and lightly swaying from side to side. I stifled an obnoxious eye roll. I was sitting alone at a table with a large, red cushion going around it for a booth, and he was awaiting ever so patiently for me to ask him to sit. He was going to be standing there for awhile. The thought almost made me smile.  
_Almost._

"Do you know what I'm wondering, Mike? Do you?" He opened his mouth to reply, but I knew it would be stupid so I cut him off and continued, "I'm wondering as to why I don't stand up right here and hit you in the face with this book in a righteous, justified endeavor to knock those idiotic and painfully false canines from your mouth. Also," I stood with my palms flat on the table, "I query to myself as to why you dare even come near me in the first place when-oh, look at that-I'm _alone_, and surprising to most that is, in fact, unusual, so most likely it is for a reason. That, my dear vampire _douche_, is what I am 'wondering' at this moment in time."

Mike simply blinked in my general direction, and I realized my miniature speech was presumably cursed to fall upon deaf ears, as is usual in this ever so quaint mountain town in Colorado. Fuck, I could not wait to leave. But, I digress and that is irrelevant.

"Soooo… Why are you alone?" He piped up, and with a quick glance to his left and right, as if checking to see if anyone was looking, he slid into the booth beside me, but not exactly next to me. If he scooted even a centimeter closer I probably would have castrated him right there with my miniature spoon for stirring coffee. I absentmindedly grabbed the utensil and tapped it rhythmically against the blue tabletop.

"If I wanted you to know, I would have informed you." I muttered, but he ignored the stab and went on. "You seem extra cranky today, if possible, Pete." At the use of my real name I literally growled and curled my upper lip. I didn't even know people knew my real name. I am pretty much only called "Red", "Goth Kid", "Crack Stains", or when people feel really creative, "Fag". The originality of this generation is overwhelmingly insignificant.

"I'm cranky because I had an actual story in process-" I gestured down to the neglected notebook-"and now that you're within a mile radius of me, the inspiration has literally drained out of me like blood from an opened wound."

"Well," He started, and by that ignoramus grin that formed on his face I knew I had slipped up somehow with what I had just said, "don't worry, because if you have an opened wound, I'd lick it clean. Then maybe make you a vampire; like myself." He then had the nerve to wriggle his eyebrows and laugh, leaning against the upholstery behind him. The audacity of this imbecile makes me want to puke out my organs.

I didn't even respond-to be honest I could barely hear, considering I am not that fluent in the language of "Stupid". Instead I just picked at the peeling, black cover of the notebook and tried to pretend that Count Fagula wasn't breathing down my neck. After a meager minute of somewhat comforting and bearable silence, Mike spoke, leaning to the side as if there was something interesting out the window to see. "Anyway, why are you alone? I never see you split from your group."

I halfheartedly shrugged, figuring that if I answered him now he'd leave me alone. Idle chit-chat plus awkward-silence-for-him-not-for-me surely equals him weirdly departing. So, with a deep sigh I answered, "Firkle had an odd, conformist-like but cute date thing with Broflovski-though he denies it's a date-Henrietta had a project thing she had to finish up, and Michael is working."

"Broflovski as in Kyle?" He asked, and I refrained from pinching the bridge of my nose because, really, is that the only thing he heard and even if it was, wow, I knew he was stupid, but damn. Without meeting his green gaze, I ripped off an edge of the notebooks front. "No, the younger, more Canadian one. Ike." Why was I even answering him at all? I could be continuing my epic tale. Even though it wasn't epic, it was just words made into sentences made into paragraphs that kind of went together in an artistic fashion.

"Oh… isn't he, like, sporty?" The usage of the word "like" even once in almost every sentence is so annoying. So annoying that if I could wish for anything, anything at all, I'd wish for a magic eraser and all of the dictionaries in the world, and I would erase the word from the existence in books of literature and from every person's vocabulary.

"Why are you so nosy?" I shot back, turning to him and flipping my hair to the side. I'd cut it, but it looks kind of badass. "And why are you here? Yes, I know you, and it is exceptionally disappointing and I do wish I could do something about it, but simply because we know each other's names and faces absolutely does not mean that I enjoy your existence on this planet, nor any other, for that matter."

Was I being more harsh than normal? Perhaps, but there was just something about him that really pissed me off. Maybe the irritating attire or attitude. Maybe the enraging way he continues on and on about being a fictional creature. Maybe it's only because he's him and I'm me, but there's a reason somewhere.

"Well, Pete, I guess I'm just… trying to make conversation, ya know?" I turned my head, flipping the black and red tresses out of my eyes once more. "Okay." Was all I said. Suddenly I was just really, _really_ tired. Fatigued, even. "I mean," he went on, and I pondered to myself if I could possibly rip off my ears without the aid of any tool, "to be honest, you just seem really…cool." That comment made me quirk a single dark brow.

Mike quickly turned away at my skeptical glance, but not before I noted the flush creeping its way into his cheeks. "You speak your mind; you let people know how you really feel about them, especially if it's hurtful but true. I don't know, maybe that's not something to envy, per se, but you just seem so courageous and between you and me, I think it's…kinda awesome."

I stared at the back of his head, taken aback and totally dumbfounded. Was he complimenting me? Is that what that was? I don't think I've ever even been complimented before. Instead of feeling that tingly, bubbly or warm feeling that I often find myself reading about when someone gets praised (if that is what that was), all I felt was befuddled confusion and a genuine sense of perplexity within my mind.

Do I thank him? Forcing my mouth to form the outlandish words, I managed to stutter, "Uhm, well… uh, thanks, I guess." What do I even say to that? _Yeah, I know I'm awesome? Sorry, don't know how to respond, no one's said anything nice to me before…ever. _

"No problem." He finally turned back to me, a small smile lingering on his lips. His blush had subsided, but his usually pale face still retained a pink tint. "I better get home. My mom will freak if I'm out too late." My expression deflated. I almost had a sort of quiet respect for him. So much for that, I suppose. "Anyway, it's a Friday night… are you doing anything tomorrow?"

I opened my mouth to throw a smart ass comeback in his face, but no sound came out. So, in a way I just looked stupid, sitting there as Mike stood up, waiting for a reply with my mouth agape. If I didn't close it soon, flies would come. I made inaudible sounds before finally just clamping my mouth shut. The fuck? Clearing my throat, I finally answered, somewhat lamely, "I don't know."

Mike smiled, and I don't really know why, but if it's because of me I promised myself I'd punch him. "Maybe we could hang, per se."

"Me? Hang with… you? Fuck no!" And why did I just say "hang"? Ugh, that sounded like a damned conformist for sure. "In fact, get out of my diner! Go, shoo, you vampire scum!"

I made a face, and Mike snickered, making no attempt to hide it. "I'll text you, then." With that pussy closing statement, he turned and rushed out, probably wanting to get home before Mommy grounded him or some shit. Ungroundable my ass.

"Wait!" I called as thoughts actually entered my brain. I stood, leaning over the table and shouted, "But you don't know my number!"

It was useless. He was gone. Slumping back into my seat, I stared ahead of me for God knows how long, just thinking, but not really thinking. I think I was thinking about thinking but never actually thought anything. I'll never understand people. Or vampires, or… whatever. Just when I was about to get up and leave, go home and lay in bed and think about thinking, my phone sang a tune that only played for one specific person.

Michael.

I wonder what he'd say about the whole thing. I don't know why, since Michael is my closest…whatever, but I let the phone ring.

**A.N. If people would read this, I'd be soooo happy. So, uhm, I know that was weird. And it was weird because I was just writing this to write something involving the Goths, I wasn't anticipating it going anywhere, ESPECIALLY FanFiction, but… I don't know, I had an actual idea. **

**So later chapters won't seem so… so much like filler, I guess. So please, please stick with it, because I promise actual things will ACTUALLY happen. Anyway, if no one got the title, emerald emotions=emerald is green, green means jealousy. **

**Ruby conflictions=ruby is the color of blood, Mike's a "vamp", there will be conflicts…Sounds cool. But, yeah, I actually know where the rest of this will go, so… tune in next time. **

**OH, and please Review! Comments let me know people are reading! ^_^  
((I DON'T OWN SOUTH PARK, IT BELONGS TO MATT STONE AND TREY PARKER))**


	2. Not So Bad

There was absolutely no denying that what had happened at the diner with Mike was beyond peculiar. But, there was also no way to know if, perhaps, I was reading too much into the nights little scene. "Vampir" always tried to talk to me before, but this time it just seemed so…pathetically _desperate_. Or, again, my head could just be filling with more senseless propaganda. It seems that growing into an adolescent has that effect on me; to be more contemplative over the minute things then I should.

After I left the diner I walked home, which wasn't as terrible as one may assume. Yes, it was a longer walk, but a little physical exertion has never necessarily been a problem for me, and though the night was as cold as it always is in Colorado-with its seemingly constant snow-I have grown almost accustomed to it through the years, so I truly paid it no heed. Before I knew it, I was at a sadly familiar house on a sadly familiar street that I was forced to call home but really, it was just a house.

As I made my way through the small opening, as quietly as I could, gently pushing open the wooden door, I was greeted with an annoyed, "Why were you out so late, Peter?" Oh, joy-my beloved mother whom I do adore ever so much has blessed me with the knowledge (that I already had at my disposal) that I dare step foot inside this house a second late. I responded with, "I was held up in traffic."

"You walked home."  
"Bicyclists."

She gave me a look, one of irritation and disbelief, but I knew a feeling of some form of amusement had struck her. She shook her head and turned around; continuing whatever it was she was earlier doing in the kitchen. I believe she is aware by now that in any verbal argument, to have myself as an opponent is already an immediate loss. After that I trotted upstairs into my room and did my natural routine of closing the door and locking it as well, for that special touch of _just in case._

I didn't even remove my purple sneakers before flopping down on the bed. It's my bed, so who gives a fuck? I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for not having answered Michael yet. What was wrong with me? When I ignore everyone else, he's the one I make sure I answer. Maybe it's simply idiotic teenage hormonal happenings that no one fully comprehends. I didn't know, but I figured I should reply to him now. I'll look like a jackass to anyone, but not Michael. Sometimes I think I actually _care_ about his opinion towards me as an individual.

With an arm that felt as if it was made from lead, I pulled the iPhone from my pocket and unlocked it. 3 Missed called and 5 Text messages. Damn. I quickly read over the messages first before checking voicemail.

_Red. _

_Red._

_Red? _

_Red, what are you doing?_

_Hello?_

He knows it's not like me to not see his texts. I hope he's not pissed and thought I was just busy or had my phone off. I didn't even know it rang this many times. If I'd have known, I would have responded sooner. Fuck me. I looked at the missed calls, but no voicemails had been left. I really only felt like telling him hello through a text, but I figured I'd better call. I clicked on one of the missed call icons and called Michael back.

It only rang twice before he picked up. "Red? Damn, what took you so long?" Michael was always a man of being straight-forward, I suppose. Quickly thinking up an excuse, I evenly retorted, "It's been dead, and I was finishing up homework and didn't even think to go ahead and charge it." I contemplated apologizing, but I didn't think that would sound very Goth. I was sorry, though. Very sorry.

"Oh. Well, you had me worried. I figured maybe some vampire douchebags had taken you hostage or some shit." My face twitched in a somewhat half-smile. _You could say that_.  
"Anyway, apparently Ike made a move on our youngest Goth."

I sat straight up in bed. It was a conformist thing to say, but I spewed the words before I had time to question whether or not they should leave my mouth, "Tell me everything." And, he did.

**{```````````````````}**

We finally got off the phone at around 11:30, and if I thought I was exhausted before, then now I was on the brink of unconsciousness. I didn't even bother covering myself up with a blanket-I just shut the phone off and laid my head on the pillow, and I was asleep.

**{`````````````````````}**

The next day I awoke exceedingly groggy. It felt as if I was much too inebriated last night, though my mouth never once touched an alcoholic beverage. Well, at least, last night it did not. I turned over in bed-still dressed in casual attire, which made my body feel stiff-and managed to sit up, my head swirling. I flicked my fogged gaze over to the blinking red lights of the digital clock resting atop my nightstand. 2:05 PM.

No wonder there was a stabbing pain in my temples; I slept like a rock. Stretching my arms over my head I yawned and actually forced my limbs to cooperate and got out of bed. I undressed out of my wrinkled clothing and replaced them with new, comfortable ones. Something a bit different-same shoes, but with black skinny jeans that had a hole in the knee, a black jacket with a white skull on the front and fingerless gloves. I stared at myself in the long mirror leaning against my wall. I didn't think I looked all that gay. As random as the thought was, I've come to mental terms with my homosexuality and read somewhere that some gays dress a bit differently, a bit more _queer _than other non-homo guys, and they don't even realize it.

I called infinite bullshit, but ever since then I always find myself looking into the glass of the mirror and wondering, _Is this gay?_ Again, I was most likely looking too much into something that was completely extraneous. Most likely it was just some dumbass conformist article. Why read into something so _stupid_? Despite myself, through the years I've found I've grown a bit more expressive and wordy, so to speak. With age comes wisdom? I halfheartedly shrugged. Who cares. As I continued to stare at the teenager glancing back at me with the same red and black hair and dull, grey eyes I felt a soft rumble in my stomach and realized I was hungrier than I thought.

_Daily routine, here I come. _

With one last final grunt I went to the bathroom, did my business, brushed my teeth, and lazily put on some eyeliner. I doubted I'd really be going out today, presuming the rest of my group are as busy as they were last night, but the usage of the slight makeup has practically become a necessity. After that I made my way downstairs to find the house empty. It wasn't unusual. I walked to the kitchen, seizing the yellow post-it note tapped to the fridge.

_Peter,  
After work I'm getting some groceries, so I'll be later.  
I love you-  
P.S. Michaels' mom informed me that her son is grounded  
and cannot hang out with you today.  
Have fun regardless?  
-Mom_

I crumbled up the note and threw it in the garbage without a second thought. Figures. His mom probably found out he was sneaking out some of her alcohol. Or did she find his cigarette stash? Who knew. Normally if Michael gets hell from his parents for whatever he manages to find his way out of it somehow, but later his mother has been on top of shit. My stomach tightened. _Guess I really won't be going out, then._ I was an independent individual, but damn did it suck to spend almost every day with at three other people and then suddenly-on a weekend, no less-you're stuck by yourself.

Shoving any dejecting emotions into the deep recesses of my subconscious I poured myself some cereal and took place on the couch, turning on the TV though turning a deaf ear to it. I began to think, mostly upon the night before and Mike's peculiar conversation. It was so brief, so unsystematic, so… atypical. The way he complimented me, not-so-stealthily edged himself closer. Was that loser attempting to gain my friendship? I angrily stuffed my mouth with Lucky Charms, chewing irately as if to prove a point. Even if he was just endeavoring to be somewhat benevolent, he only succeeded in making a very uncanny encounter. Soon enough my bowl was finished, but I was too lethargic to get up and take it back to the kitchen.

_Damn, this is going to be one boring Saturday. _What was I supposed to do? With a hearty grunt I flipped through channel after channel, stopping just for a single moment on Terrance and Phillip. "Conformist shit." I changed it. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of the tedious trials I resided on some older cartoon and laid down on the couch, legs curled up to my chest. I was too awake to take a nap-I slept in until two for Christ's sake. Just as I was fighting with my mind about how I'd probably never sleep again, I found myself dosing in and out of consciousness.

{~~~~~~~~~~}

I awoke suddenly to the sound of someone knocking on my door. I instinctively guessed my mom, or perhaps Michael. I arose, cracked my back in a stretch, and walked to the door. I pulled it open with a yank. "Hey, Micha-…Mike?" Sputtering, I took in the green and black hair before me, jaw hanging slack. The unfazed figure grinned, exposing glistening white pearls for teeth. He tucked a strand of inky hair behind his hair, which fell right back into place. "Heya, Pete." I blinked, my hand tightening around the doorknob. I had half a mind to slam it back into his face, but I remained still.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, more out of curiosity than distain. His grin seemed to widen and he lifted his black clad shoulders. "Well, I told you I'd call you last night, right?" I gave no response. If he was troubled by my silence it didn't show, for he continued leisurely, "Yeah. Uh, I kind of forgot I didn't have your number. I mean, I knew, but I figured I could get it from somebody but it just… didn't… yeah." I hadn't the clue what "it just didn't yeah" truly meant, but I pursed my lips regardless. "Anyway," he continued with a wave of his hand, "I knew where you live-it's South Park after all, everyone knows where everyone lives-so I figured this afternoon I'd stop by and just ask instead of call or text or… whatever."

I quirked a black brow. Monotonously, I inquired, "Ask about what, pray tell?" At that the supposed vampire flushed, as if he momentarily recalled he had yet to ask said question. Clearing his throat, he started without meeting my lackluster gaze, "Do you, maybe, want to hang out? With me… today?" Suddenly, my heart was in my stomach. What? Why? When did Mike take such an interest in me?  
"The fuck." I stated aloud, though it was meant as an internal statement. Still, I went along with it, "Hang out where, Count Fagula? The blood bank? A graveyard? It's only, what, around three? Shouldn't you be asking me around midnight, or some shit?" He visibly deflated, which filled my chest with a since of guilt I can't ever really remember having. This douche was beyond annoying, but his attentions seemed to be genuinely earnest. Still, he's a douche. Douche's have to thoroughly humiliated, right?

Mike kicked the ground with his leather boot absentmindedly. "I just… figured you'd want to do it during the day. I put on lots of sunscreen so I wouldn't burn or anything, if that's what you're worried about." I practically choked. "Oh, yeah," I retorted, venom dripping from each syllable, "you worry me so, _Vampir_, what with the fact that you may burn if you are exposed to too much sunlight. But I must ponder, as I happen to often do, just how much would it truly _burn_?"

Mike looked at my then, timidly. "A lot?" He said, more of a question than an answer. I flipped my bangs out of my face. I couldn't help but think how intriguing that would be to witness. "Anyway, as I was saying-" Oh, for the love of God. "-will you? Hang out with me, I mean. If you're not busy. If you are, I understand. But it's like I said last night, I… like you." A furious shade of pink overtook his otherwise pale complexion, and again he looked down. "Like as in, you know, you're so much different than anyone else and I just really want to be your friend. I know you're not too fond of me or whatever, but…" I saw that each word was a strain to say. His lips were tight against his teeth and his fingers were fidgeting, as if it physically ached him to confess this to me.

By this point I was leaning against my doorframe, not fighting back a bemused twinkle behind my eyes. If Mike kept it up like this, I just may have to accept his ever so endearing offer. "…but ever since I met you, even though you're kind of mean, you're just so _real._"  
"Really?" I mocked, stifling a low chuckle. "How odd, considering I was most positive I was some sort of imaginary friend. You honestly think me real?"

A shudder ran up Mike's frame. "That's not what I-" he stopped, studying an interesting spot on my concrete steps. "A fair just opened up about a day or two ago. I know it's not your thing, but… I mean, if you're not doing anything else on a Saturday, I thought… maybe-"  
"Alright."  
Mike's head perked up so fast I was surprised he didn't break his neck. His emerald eyes twinkled, and it made me slightly uncomfortable. "What'd you say?" I clenched my fists and folded my arms across my chest.

"You heard me. I said alright." Mike's smile reached up to his ears. "Why not? Everyone else is gone, I'd be bored out of my mind otherwise." I looked at him dead on, eyes narrowing. "But I swear, if you do one thing to annoy me I will end you. You thought a one way ticket to Scottsdale was bad, you'll find what I could easily have in store the equivalent of a living Hell. Also," I flipped my bangs once more, "no _I'm a vampire look at my faggy clothes and expensive hairdo._ We clear?"

Mike stared at me for a moment, then responded simply, "You really think my clothes are faggy?"

{~~~~~~~~~~~~}

The walk there wasn't as horrendously stifling and cumbersome as I had assumed it would be. If anything, it was almost… pleasant. I was over one-hundred percent sure that our walking together, alone, would be the most humiliating and uncomfortable few minutes I would be forced to endure, but it was quite the contrary. If anything, it was enjoyable. We made idle chit-chat and I threw lots of sarcastic remarks at him, that of which he took completely in stride. There was even one point in which he tried to impress me with some sort of move he had been working on and he fell completely on his back. I cannot recall a time in which I had laughed so hard before. Tears stung at the corners of my eyes.

Once we got there, Mike looked at me sheepishly. "I know carnivals aren't your thing," he began, scratching at the back of his neck, "but I'm determined to make you have fun, anyway." I told him no. I told him that though it felt okay to get out of the house, "fun" was a relative term and I doubted I'd be experiencing it much, especially with the likes of him. He grinned, then, and said, "We'll see." We agreed first off that rollercoaster's kind of suck. They ruin my hair and Mike mentioned how he once got whiplash so bad one of the first few times he went on one that he was practically bedridden for two days.

So that was out. We went on a stupid bounce house for little kids, but it was just the two of us and it was weirdly enjoyable. I continually fell, and eventually Mike started catching me. First his arms around me, pulling me towards his chest was awkward and enraging, but after awhile of my frivolous complaints I just allowed it. It was strangely comforting, in a what-the-hell kind of way. After that we bought some overpriced pizza and soda, then went on the Ferris Wheel. Personally, I've never been on one, so the prospect of being up that high was a bit unnerving. I tried playing it off as nothing, but Mike soon caught on to my uneasiness.

He reassured me repetitively, but it didn't console me much. Even as we were getting into our seat, my mind was still yelling at me to beg the operating man to let me go. As if. I'm no pussy. I let the man strap me in the seat and shivered. We went up, as the ride does, and as luck would have it we got stuck at the top. I've no real fear of heights, but I couldn't fight the queasiness dancing in my stomach. "You okay?" Mike asked, and I nodded. "Fine." I said. "Fine."

The end's of Mikes mouth upturned ever so slightly. "You can hold onto me," he said, "if you get too scared." I twisted my head to look at him, glaring.  
"Never."  
His green eyes laughed and he leaned back in the seat. "Whatever you say." Even as he spoke, though, he didn't take his eyes off of me. My anxiousness for the ride was soon replaced with an even stronger feeling of apprehension. It was as if his eyes were taking in all of me, swallowing me. It made my skin crawl, if he yearned to say something too profound for me to want to hear. Something was buried in his eyes, some kind of secret that, it seemed, even he did not want to admit to himself. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I was suddenly keenly aware of how close we were.

His eyes flicked down to my lips and I soon closed my mouth, lips pulling taunt. The intensity of his gaze made me beyond perturbed. "Pete," he began, and I wanted to slam my palms against his mouth, "I just want to say… I think-" His voice dropped off the end of the earth, falling back into his mouth as we abruptly descended, our ride continuing and picking up speed. The rest of the time we were there I didn't say a word about the sentence left unstated, and neither did he.

{~~~~~~~}

Like some kind of gentlemen of the night, Mike walked me home. "You didn't have to do that." I said, crossing my arms as I stood in front of my door. He shrugged, a playful smile lingering over his face. His eyes still hid that longing essence that I couldn't-wouldn't-place. Though there were words left unsaid between us-words I didn't want to guess-I believe we both knew the night was drawing to a close and our time together was soon ending. Maybe it was for the better. I didn't want to catch the douchebag.

"I should get inside. I've lots of brooding to do, you know, being a Goth." I slipped, biting back a smile. Mike softly chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets in a strangely sluggish way that I had never quite noticed before. "Indeed. And I've lots of pillaging to do, you know, being a Vampire." I punched his arm. I wasn't sure at the time if it was meant to be playful, but by his slight wince I don't think it quite felt that way. "Whatever." I turned on my heels to head inside. As I opened the door and was about to close it behind me, Mike quickly asked, "So did you have fun?"

I stopped. Did I? Surely not. Not with Mike Makowski, at least. If I did, it was because I allowed it, not because he brought upon any sort of exhilaration that brings about enjoyment. What was I to say? Realizing several silent moments had passed between us, I settled on, "I guess." Even though I had my back turned towards the little creep, I felt his smile light up the whole block. "Told you so." With that he skipped off, most likely to drink more clamoto juice or something idiotic like that.

I closed the door behind me with a soft _click_ and slid down it, all the way to the floor. The truth of the matter was, I had a splendid time. I was being so NOT Goth. Still… I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them. Without my knowing, a smile had crept up into my features. Maybe, just maybe, that vampire douchebag wasn't so terrible after all.


End file.
